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Boombox Lyrics

Artist: Aesop Rock
Album: Labor Days

Raw, I'm going to give it to youWith no triviaRaw like that Aesop rock iron-fisted list militiaWhile bent funny bone grown communitySpit a thousand and 1 ripples to cripple the continuityTap water builds characterRight I irrigate it straight to mainlineYou want to do the same? FineThese pretty profit grommet teams solidify the clot to slippery city salt piston pump drainBut hold those incredible console with the Russian roulette baboon spin-offWhere everyday a thousand strangers pray for empty chambersOne-sixth buckleFive Sixths sweat bullets trying to keep it subtleBut I'll get you (I'm going to get you)Wobbly rope bridgeBroke inches tired of dry landBut duck skull stepping-stones suit the mix-down wellWell, when the rumor spreads that y'all stupidI'll be the cat with guilty look on face and shirt that reads: I didn't do it!Is it on, is it beyond basicDoes it ice grill you or is every song faceless?Does it have a title? If didn't would you name it?Does it babble about nothing like a drunken atheist?We could run that Orwells '84 warFor the room 1 on 1 z-tourTill he try and fidgets with his or her own work spear specificsSwerve around the cobra kissesSee if the venom overloads this visionI'm going to suck the poison out and spit itStole my sneakers but your features never fit inServers you right for trying to walk a mile outside your limitsI'm going to tiptoe across this yo-yo stringUntil you walk the dog out from under my feet and skip town, sit down

(Chorus)It goes boom boom boomBoombox

Earth to a-r vertical burden has increased at an alarming rateBliss is down a pointMurder up, glee down and still fallingStill crawling out of bed at 2 on SaturdaysCame this blind soldier-burning confessionalEase back; let a heart thump echo normalcy for 10Let the back burner boiling point descendI race the derby in the first heat (strike personal)Strike personal space with the most utterly putrid version of graceSpit the gimmick, sit and fidgetWhile we try and jump through hoopsLike Coney Island freak show midgetsWant to be a fighter pilotDriving that childish early Wright brothers experimentPrototypic model fossilSit and sweat bullets on a consoleBusting accidental dirt bike donutsOutside the most ridiculous poison tongue brain siloDead before the chubby debutaunt conquered the high noteSchooled by the cruel intention inventions pensive sideshowSee contrary to popular certaintyI alone advance without an earthly poemAnd dance on a handful of zoning fansHolding every chance to own the land I roamWith dome in handsTruly be its only camper happy with the scrap heapSee I convinced myself it's onTherefore it is and the melody settlesBeneath the fact that I'm just spitting for these kidsI tried to get them all openAnd once I quit and said I didn't careI swear they all threw their hands up in the air